


Of Frog Underpants and Basketball

by bob2ff



Series: Miracles Hijinks [16]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Childhood, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-04 19:57:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1791292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bob2ff/pseuds/bob2ff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some days, even Midorima’s lucky frog underpants don’t help. A Midorima characterpiece.</p><p>Inspired by Calvin & Hobbes, the comic strip. “You know, Hobbes, some days even my lucky rocket ship underpants don’t help.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Frog Underpants and Basketball

**Author's Note:**

> Written for BPS' Challenge 72 (Comics).
> 
> I was tossing around the idea of a Midorima characterpiece when I checked today’s, 22 May, [Oha Asa](http://oha--asa.tumblr.com/) (as one is wont to do), and saw that firstly, Cancer (Midorima’s horoscope) is ranked no. 1. Secondly, the lucky item for Cancers is basketball. Oha Asa has decreed — I HAD to write this.
> 
> Also, Calvin & Hobbes is my absolute favourite comic strip.

“Midorima’s so _weird_.”

“You know I saw him carry around a potted cactus all day.”

“He _talks_ weird.” 

Eight-year-old Midorima thought that some days, even his lucky frog-patterned underpants didn’t help. First, there was the fact that someone _took_ the last shiruko can, even though everybody _knew_ Midorima always wanted shiruko for his teatime snack. He had stood up and announced it in front of the entire class (after his explanation of the shiruko-making process) during show and tell, after all.

Then, there was the fact that his teacher had _forced_ him to finish his lunch, even though Midorima _hated_ natto. He hadn’t wanted to, but his teacher had threatened to take Kerosuke away if he didn’t. As if Kerosuke was _her_ stuffed frog to take.

Midorima walked primly home alone, every day. His classmate Sato was infuriating and annoying, so Midorima did not want to walk with him. Takahashi jumped about too much, andhe was fond of taking Midorima’s lucky item away from him, or swiping his glasses from his face.

“I’m _not_ stealing!” he would insist, but Midorima had _told_ him he didn’t like it, and he _still_ did it.

Midorima did not need annoying boys shoving him about as he walked, jumping about and getting in his way. And his mother was always busy with his little sister, and his father was always busy at work.

Midorima could not rely on anyone but himself, and Oha Asa. Oha Asa was always there for him, providing guidance. It did not laugh at him the first time he had gotten his glasses, and had been so worried that no one would recognize him when he wore them. It did not laugh at him for just being himself.

He had Kerosuke, he had his frog underpants, he had Oha Asa, and he had his lucky items. All he needed to do well. He did not need the other kids. 

“What, _now_ you want to play with us?” Sato was being _infuriating_ as usual, as he _dared_ to put his nose in the air, not looking at Midorima. Takahashi was next to him, holding the basketball.

“No. I just want to borrow the basketball for the day after you’re done with it. I’ll return it tomorrow,” Midorima gripped the blue ribbon in his fist. He _wished_ he did not have to ask them for help, but he was scared. One item in his lucky colour wasn’t enough to ensure he would do well in that day’s spelling test.

He had memorized the words as best as he could, but then some days even all his preparations did not help. And, his frog underpants were in the wash that day. Midorima breathed fast as he tried to temper down his panic and rising worries. He needed the assurance of Oha Asa. He needed the basketball.

“Midorima’s weird! You _talk_ weird. And are you a _girl_ or something, carrying that ribbon around?” Takahashi jeered. Midorima stiffened with all the righteous anger an eight-year-old could possess. 

“Is that supposed to be an insult?” he crossed his arms and stared them down, the way he had seen his teacher do when she scolded them. They only rolled about laughing at his too-stiff demeanour, the way he talked. At his glasses, too big for his face.

No, Midorima did not need annoying boys who made him feel bad for being the way he was. But he needed that basketball. Midorima would not let himself fail at the spelling test. He was better than that.

“I’ll play you for it,” he declared, after a conscious tug at his glasses. The other boys really were laughing too loudly at them.

“Do you even _know_ how to play basketball?” Sato looked ridiculous, his face all scrunched up like that at Midorima. Despite himself, Midorima’s face scrunched back, instinctively, at him.

“It’s easy. You just get the ball through the hoop.” Midorima asserted, loftily. With no warning, Takahashi threw the ball at him.

“First person to score a basket wins!” Midorima was thrown a few steps back as the force of the ball slammed into him. 

Then Sato was suddenly _in his face_ , pushing him down and grabbing the ball. His glasses askew, Midorima watched dimly as he ran towards the hoop.

 _No_. Midorima would not let Oha Asa down. He ran towards Sato, faster than he ever thought he was capable of, Takahashi yelling a warning by the side. 

Up close, Sato looked even more ridiculous, his mouth hanging open as Midorima swiped the ball from him, the rough leather of the basketball feeling like it had always belonged in his hand. Like a favourite pet returning to its rightful owner. Midorima turned towards the hoop, and felt his thoughts go blank.

As properly as he cut his nails every week the way his mother had taught him; as specifically as he arranged the pickled vegetables according to size before eating them from his bento; as meticulously as he arranged the items in his school bag for the next day; as precisely as he chose his lucky items every morning; Midorima aimed the ball at the hoop. He shot.

Suddenly, Midorima was thrown on the ground. His glasses clattered away. Dimly, he heard yelling — “It’s _my_ ball, you can’t have it!” and “Boys, what’s the meaning of this!”

Everything went clear as his glasses were placed back on his face. His lip throbbed. Midorima was looking up at his teacher, holding Sato by the ear, gripping Takahashi by the arm.

“Midorima-kun, I never expected this of you. All three of you will get a time-out, and you will stand in the corner for the rest of the day and think about what you’ve done.” 

No, some days, even Midorima’s lucky items did not help.

As they stood in the corner, backs to the class and facing each other, Sato whispered to him, “Nice shot.” Midorima jerked up and glared at him. “Are you mocking me?”

Takahashi elbowed Midorima and whispered. “No, weirdo. The ball went in. We saw it.”

Midorima ignored him. He ignored both of them. He stood there, fuming on his own. He did not need those annoying boys telling him anything, after the trouble they had gotten him in with the teacher.

But later that day, Midorima asked his mother to buy a basketball for him. Some days, lucky items did not help.

But the basketball felt different. Basketball felt like something Midorima could rely on, beyond even his frog underpants.


End file.
